Lullaby and Goodnight
by KismetEvenstar
Summary: House has recieved a silent blow, and tries his best to drown it out with music. Meanwhile, he has his ever loving Cuddy present to take requests.


She walked in the door, placed her keys on the door side table. She reached down to take off her heels, glad to walk around flat-footed for a while. As much as she loved heels, as much as she knew they made her legs look incredibly sexy, sometimes she just wanted to let down, let loose.

'Greg?' she called out. She knew he was home. After all, since when did he work until seven in the evening? When did the yearly budget become his concern? She didn't remember when he had to account for the new SPECT CT scanner they just purchased for the neurology department. Even though it did do so much for the hospital.

She stopped in her tracks, and shut off her brain. She did not want to let thoughts of work continue to cloud her head. That is why she had come to his place.

To further complicate her life.

She went to the fridge, and made herself a martini, knowing full well that by now he knew she was there, and he just didn't feel like getting up to join her. She sighed, and decided to reciprocate by silently refusing to bring him a drink.

He was sitting on the sofa, and looked up when she walked in. She leaned in the door frame, waiting for him to speak. It was only then that she realized he was plugged into that silly little machine, his iPod, and that was why he couldn't hear her.

'The songstress returns.' he said, pulling the buds, from his ears.

'Excuse me?'

'Ok, maybe the siren fits better. You know the old Greek myth, don't you? They would lure you in with their voice, and then went in for the kill.' He smiled sardonically. 'I see you've been to the fridge already. Nothing for me?'

'You seem to have a head start.' she said, noticing the two empty bottles on the table.

He followed her gaze, and smiled lazily. 'So it seems. Here, get comfortable.'

Cuddy was confused. House was unusually... pleasant. Refreshing, but still unsettling.

'How was the rest of your work day? Did you manage to tie someone in knots before you left? Maybe leave them under the assumption their job was on the line?' he asked, heading for the kitchen.

'If you actually worked the hours you were supposed to, you might know.' she said, trying not to snap at him. Again she had to remind herself that she did not want to bring her work home.

He came back in with a bottle and sat down at the piano. 'It was in the hospital's best interest that I leave early today.' he said authoritatively, using his mocking tone. Mocking her.

He began plucking a few notes on the piano, nothing in particular, no ambition in his actions. A quick run up the scales. He turns to sit properly on the piano bench, and tentatively chooses a couple of chords. She folded up her legs and placed a throw pillow on her lap, waiting for him to elaborate.

He began to play the piano quietly so she could hear him as he spoke. 'I received my final divorce paperwork from Stacy today. I am officially a single man.' He cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. 'Well, no, that's not true. I am remarried.' He gestured to his cane with his chin. 'So if we ever go out in public, we can double date.'

She remained silent, waiting for him. Watching him play, and measuring the amount of Viccodin and alcohol he had already ingested by how easily he manipulated the piano pedals.

'She was smart. She had them mailed to my office, so that I would not miss them. If she mailed it here they might have sat in that pile under your keys for days.'

'Greg-'

'Oh, don't furrow your eyebrows at me like that, like I'm a damn dog that needs to be taken to the pound. It's just a piece of paper. It's not as if anything has changed. I don't feel any lonelier. I just didn't want Wilson to see them. Then he would go home and tell Julie, and they would feel obligated to invite me over, and I would have to say no, and I would feel like shit.'

'Since when did saying what you felt make you feel like shit?'

He lifted his hands from the keys. 'Since the mail came today.'

He began to play again. 'So, I am taking requests tonight. Well, first I have one. Could you make me another drink?'

She knew he was drunk enough for her to ask without getting into another fight. 'How many Viccodins did you take already?'

'Woah, woah, hey, public service announcement lady, I took the prescribed amount. Just like parole officer Wilson tells me to.'

'He's not here and I'm not Wilson. How many?'

'Just make me a damn drink Lisa.'

She saw the pleading in his eyes, the blue piercing through the red that could only mean he had been crying. He wasn't drunk. The beer bottles were probably old. She looked at the piano, at the bottle of water. He probably went into the kitchen to take some, she thought.

'I can't.' she said.

He nodded, the defeat in his eyes crushing her. She didn't want to be the one to break his hear. He continued to play as she came over and wrapped her arms around him from behind. 'Come to bed Greg.' she whispered in his ear.

'I'm not tired.'

She laid her hands over his; felt the power in his fingers as her struck the keys. She stopped his hands and gently placed them in his lap. Leaning over him, she began to play one of the few songs she remembered from forced childhood piano lessons: Brahms Lullaby.

He looked up at her, surprised. She never told him about her piano playing, she thought he would find it childish and would mock her. Who knows, perhaps tomorrow, when the light was harsher, he might.

She leaned down and kissed him. 'Come to bed.'


End file.
